


All's Fair in Love and War

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Canon, Drama, Inspired by Real Events, Minor Character Death, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-09-16
Updated: 2005-09-28
Packaged: 2018-12-26 20:02:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12065988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Brian Kinney is a war correspondent with a major magazine, currently on assignment in Iraq.   Justin Taylor is a young, freelance photographer/artist, just out of college and looking to make a name for himself, telling the story of the warâ€™s effect on the people of Iraq, especially the children.  The two are destined to meetâ€”if Justin can survive that long.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

Brian cursed the heat, the war, his editor, and pretty much anything his thoughts happened to settle on for more than a moment, all while scanning his surroundings constantly for any signs of trouble. He drove his jeep with one hand, his other on his black market gun. It was rare that any of the American journalists left the hotel these days, but the recent increase in deaths had lured him out, in search of a story. In truth, he thought the war had been milked for all it was worth as far as his magazine was concerned, and he had been trying to convince his editor to bring him home for weeks. Now it was just more of the same, week after bloody week. He had long since run out of ideas of what to write about; he had no intention of staying until he ran out of luck. 

“Fuck.” He heard the sound of gunfire off to the side of the road up ahead. He scanned the area, his special Polaroid sunglasses, also black market, helped him deal with this desert sun; the dust was a whole different problem. He pulled over and quickly put the jeep between him and the source of the shots. That’s when he saw him. The Blond. 

Justin Taylor had been sketching some local children from the doorway of a half bombed out building. This was the third day he had come to this location, bringing the children candy and bits of food from his supplies at the hotel. He had managed to collect some items of clothing too, from the soldiers at the army base. People tended to respond when Justin made a request, with that big, beaming smile of his. He had been warned by some of the older, more experienced journalists not to go to the same place more than one day in a row, but Justin had promised the children he would come back. He had taken some photographs the two previous days, and today he could not resist staying longer to capture some of their faces in charcoal as they excitedly fought over his gifts. He was working on a project, “The Faces of War,” and these innocent victims captured his heart. He could not break a promise to them. He planned to come back again. He was so engrossed in his sketching he had not heard the men with guns approaching. The children had heard it; they had a sixth sense about such things. All he knew was that one moment he was drawing a cute little urchin, the next he was pinned in the doorway by gunfire, with no means of escape. Two different factions seemed to be shooting it out; each side intent on capturing the American prize.

“Fuck.” So much for being the next John Singer Sargent or Georges Leroux, Justin thought, wishing he had brought a gun with him at least. 

Suddenly a jeep came crashing through the streets, zigzagging wildly, causing the gunmen to jump back to avoid the mad driver. It swerved right up to the doorway and a voice yelled at the artist to get in as the driver started shooting to keep the gunmen from moving in.

Justin didn’t need a second invitation; he leapt into the jeep without thinking twice. He held on as it took off at a break-neck speed. 

The vehicle didn’t stop until it had pulled into the American hotel compound, pausing only briefly for the driver to flash his ID at the soldiers at the gate, who waved him on. The driver turned in his seat and pulled off his sunglasses, revealing blazing hazel eyes in the most gorgeous face Justin had ever seen. 

“Are you the stupidest fuck in this country or do you simply have a death wish?”

“I…I didn’t think anything would happen. I mean, nothing like this has ever happened to me before. I was only around children,” Justin explained looking out the window in the direction of where the shooting had taken place.

“Hopefully you learned a lesson,” Brian said, running his hand over his sweaty brow. “I’m Brian, by the way, Brian Kinney.”

Justin looked up at Brian and smiled, “Justin Taylor.”

“So Justin Taylor, what brings you to Iraq?”

“Um, I’m an artist,” Justin said blushing.

“Hmm, an artist,” Brian said nodding. “What’s an artist doing out here?”

“Probably the same thing you’re doing, observing,” Justin said looking around Brian’s car. “You’re obviously not a soldier.”

“You’re right, I’m a journalist,” Brian explained, “Are you staying at this hotel? I haven’t seen you here before so you must be fairly new.” He was thinking, anyone this naïve and stupid must be new; otherwise he would be dead by now, wandering around the streets of Baghdad armed with nothing more than a sketchbook and a camera. Besides, Brian would have noticed that bubble butt walking around the Hotel if it had been here for more than a day or two. 

“Thanks for rescuing me.” Justin smiled. “I’ll be more careful next time.” Justin nodded at the taller man and stepped out of the jeep. He quickly gathered his belongings and was about to make his way inside when Brian grabbed him by the arm and jerked him back to him.

“What?” Justin asked, confused blue eyes looking up into Brian’s hazel ones.

Brian lightly grazed the back of Justin’s head with his hand and Justin gasped at the pain. Pulling back his hand, Brian showed Justin the small trace of blood.

“Come on, I’ll help you clean that up,” Brian offered and walked in the hotel. Justin followed close behind, now feeling the pain from the cut.

They walked into the hotel and headed into the west wing. That particular area of the hotel was where the more wealthy journalists stayed, mainly people from CNN and Fox News, as well as the more prestigious magazines. Justin was not surprised to see that Brian was one among those people; he had an air of wealth and sophistication about him, despite his dusty clothes and rough demeanor.

The room was much more spacious than Justin’s tiny one and he very much envied that. There was a large king-sized bed in the middle of the room with a table next to it. The window on the far wall was also different from Justin’s, and the wall had a bank of outlets. His closed in room had practically no electricity.

Justin had remained quiet since they had entered the room, which Brian finally noticed.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Observing,” Justin replied, “Being an artist, I find myself doing that a lot.”

Brian nodded and grabbed his first aid kit out of his large duffel bag, which was sitting on a large table, which Justin also envied.

“Come here,” Brian said to Justin, who walked over. He found himself unable to disobey that compelling voice.

“Will it sting?” Justin asked looking at the unmarked bottle from which Brian was pouring a liquid onto a small cotton ball.

“Maybe, but depends on if you can take it.” Brian smirked at him. No need to tell the kid it was mere Peroxide. 

Justin smiled and presented his back to Brian. Brian applied the Peroxide lightly and inspected the wound.

“It doesn’t look very deep, how do you think it happened?”

“I must have scraped my head against the side of the building when I backed away from the bullets,” Justin explained.

After cleaning the scratch, Brian applied a small amount of Neosporin to it and put away his first aid kit. He then looked back over at Justin and smiled. This young man was beautiful and it had been quite a while.

Sitting still and not talking, Justin listened to Brian move about behind him. If Justin hadn't just been in a near-death situation and if he weren’t always so chicken shit about making the first move, or any move for that matter, he’d be sticking his tongue down Brian’s hot throat.

“Are you hungry?” Brian asked, bending to look through his mini-fridge, giving Justin a nice view of his ass in skin tight jeans.

“No,” Justin replied, forcing himself to look away from the man in front of him and glance at his watch.

“What? Do you have to be somewhere?” Brian asked, noticing Justin’s gesture.

“No.”

“You don’t talk much,” Brian stated and Justin laughed.

“I’m just nervous.”

“Why?” Brian asked with a raised eyebrow.

Realizing he revealed too much, Justin turned his head away so as not to reveal the redness that now engulfed his face.

“I…I have to go,” Justin said standing up.

“Wait a minute,” Brian said, grabbing Justin around the waist.

Justin sighed and stopped in his tracks, “What?” He didn’t want to seem ungrateful; after all, this man had just saved his life. At least, that is what he told himself. The truth was, the last thing he wanted to do was leave this room.

“Where are you going? We haven’t gotten to know each other yet.”

Before Justin could stop Brian, not that he wanted to, the taller man was sucking on his neck. Justin couldn’t stop the slight moan that escaped his lips. He tilted his head to the side and Brian ran his hand slowly over Justin’s chest.

“So you just assume I’m gay,” Justin laced his fingers with Brian’s.

“You looking at my ass gave it away,” Brian murmured, continuing his sucking.

Justin nodded and Brian pulled him over to the bed. Knowing that he wouldn’t last long being inside the great looking ass the blond had, Brian quickly undressed himself. Following Brian’s lead, Justin slowly took off his clothes while watching Brian reveal his beautiful form.

“Are you a bottom?” Brian asked, knowing he was going to top the other man no matter what the answer was, but hoping no time would be lost on persuasion, not this first time. 

“Yes.”

Brian smiled and reached for the condom on the table beside his bed. He slipped the condom on his aching cock and applied a generous amount of lube on it and at Justin’s hole.

Slowly slipping in his index finger, Brian watched the blond beneath him arch. Justin spread his legs wider when he felt Brian tap his thigh lightly. They smiled at each other and Brian added a second and then a third finger.

Justin greedily pleaded for more in his ass and Brian listened, removing his fingers from him, only to replace them with his large dick. Brian placed Justin’s legs on his shoulders and pushed in slowly. 

The facial expressions Justin gave were priceless. They changed from massive pain into pure oblivion in only a few seconds. Brian wished he were the artist of the two so that he could draw what was lying under him. The artist, meanwhile, was making incredible noises and bending as much as he could in order to get Brian deeper inside him.

As Brian predicted, neither man lasted long; both of them came soon after they began. Brian filled the condom and Justin splashed his spunk all over his chest.

After catching most of his breath, Brian pulled out of Justin and laid down next to him on the large bed.

“Well, that was fun. So, how soon can you be packed and ready to head back to the States?”


	2. All's Fair in Love and War

Justin looked at Brian and rolled his eyes, “What are you talking about? I’m not going anywhere.”

Brian sighed and got out of his bed, “Look, kid, it’s too dangerous for you here. You should really go back home where it’s safe.”

“Look, I appreciate the concern, but I’m not going anywhere. I have a job to do here,” Justin explained and stood up as well.

They both dressed quickly and in silence. Brian was pondering some different ways to convince Justin that he should go home and leave the _real_ journalists to do their work. Slipping on his shirt, Justin tried to think of a subtle way to ask Brian if they could get together again.

“So,” Justin began smoothing out his rumpled hair, “Can we meet again?”

“No,” Brian said shaking his head.

“Why not?”

“I have a very strict ‘one fuck only’ policy. Besides, you’re going home.”

“Just leave me the fuck alone about that! I gave you my decision. I am going to stay. I have to finish what I’ve started.”

Brian rolled his eyes and walked to the front door, “Fine, now if you’ll be so kind, I have to get some work done.”

Brian opened the door and Justin walked out, muttering something under his breath that sounded a lot like ‘asshole;’ like Brian hadn’t heard that before.

Justin stormed down the hall and out of the hotel. Fuck what Brian thought; he was doing a job like all the other journalists here, an important one. He had a story to tell and he was going to tell it! He walked to the outskirts of the “Green Zone,” near which there was a large rock. He perched on top of it and got comfortable. From where he sat, he could see a few crude houses, and children running about playing simple games with some sticks and a ball. Justin quickly began to draw.

After a few minutes, a passerby happened to recognize the blond sitting on top of the rock. She tried to get his attention. After calling his name a couple of times to no avail, she finally slapped his leg, which got Justin’s attention immediately.

“Shit!” he screamed rubbing the spot, “Who do you think you are?!”

“Justin,” Daphne said, suppressing a giggle, “it’s me.”

Justin looked at the girl, and smiled instantly.

“Daph!” he yelled, hugging the small woman, “What are you doing here?”

“I’m with my uncle; he’s a chief correspondent for CNN. He said I could come here to visit him so I could get a good story first hand for Young Life.”

“I just can’t believe it. I’ve missed you so much.”

Daphne smiled widely and continued to let her friend hug her.

Justin and Daphne had been best friends since their sandbox days. Ever since they were young, they had always looked out for each other and as soon as Justin realized that Daphne was in Iraq, he went into protective mode.

“You know, Daph, you really shouldn’t be here, it’s not that safe.”

“Justin, you and I both know that I will never let a man tell me what to do, even a gay one.”

Justin laughed and playfully swatted Daphne’s arm, “Are you staying here too?”

“Only for tonight,” Daphne explained looking the place up and down, “but I can do better. My uncle’s moving me someplace different. He can’t get me into one of the better rooms here so he is moving me into one of the nicer places in the ‘Green Zone.’ Plus, he says I can use his security detail when he isn’t using it!” 

“Oh, so you won’t be here much longer,” Justin stated sadly, wishing he would have the company of his best friend.

Daphne smiled, “You know, I’ll see if you can come too. That way, we can keep each other company as we go around the city and look for scoops! Jimmy Olson and Lois Lane!” She giggled.

Justin smiled and they walked back into the hotel together. 

 

Brian downloaded his notes from the morning into his laptop. He wrote about his “rescue” of the young American artist; it might come in handy later. Maybe he would write about the idealism of American youth, interview a few of the younger soldiers, there certainly was no shortage of them, teenagers willing to give their lives because good old George in the White House told them this war was about 9/11 and the American way. Yeah, and the freedom to drive SUVs and support Halliburton, Brian thought cynically. 

He could not keep his thoughts from drifting back to the tight young ass he had plowed earlier, or the blond’s bright smile. Or, to be completely honest, something he tried to do even with himself, the hurt look in the kid’s eyes when he told him to get out of Iraq and that he didn’t do repeats. 

What the fuck did the kid think it was? Love at first sight? Did he think he was Superman saving Lois Lane and then flying off into the sunset? Yeah, it’s a shame he left his bullet proof skin back in Gayopolis. Thinking of the comic book hero made him think of Mikey. He wondered how his buddy was surviving back home in the good old U. S. of A. He checked his email, there was only one from Lindsay; Gus had cut another tooth. She sent a picture; damn the kid was cute, looked like his old man. Brian grinned composed an appropriate reply. 

There was more, however, she hadn’t heard from Mel: had he seen or heard anything lately? Linz was worried about her fellow muncher. Hell, he would bet on Mel against Osama himself, but he knew Linz would never believe that. 

OK, time to channel his better self; there was one in him somewhere, and if not, use his creative writing skills to come up with something comforting. Truth was, if Mel had not been heard from in eight days that was not good news but there was no way he would tell Linz that in an email. He wrote the usual stuff about people being out of touch for days and not to worry. He also told her he would look into it but not to expect to hear back right away. He would have to check with his contacts among the higher ups and find out if any one from her squadron was missing or if they were just out on patrol. 

Fuck. Why a member of the Judge Advocate General’s Corp would be out on patrol and missing was a mystery to him, but they may have needed to check into conditions at one of the camps further out. Since those torture stories came out, the army lawyers were busier than anyone. 

The wonders of warfare in the modern age. You knew both too much and not enough. Ben Bruckner might know something. He was a Colonel. They had the inside scoop. Brian made a mental note to check in with him that evening if he could get a ride out to the airport. Better to handle this face to face. Damn, the things he ended up doing for Lindsay. And he didn’t even like pussy, he thought with a chuckle. 

In which the thought brought him full circle, back to the blond from earlier. He hoped the kid would go home. Tough as he had been with him, and as much as he had acted as though the kid were just another fuck, a part of him would really hate to see him be the next statistic. That little blond head was too cute to be chopped off by a fanatic’s blade. 

Brian had been with army rescue squads that had arrived too late, and he had vomited up his guts after duly writing down his impressions for the reading audience back home; recording for posterity what it looked like when someone was decapitated. True, the decapitations had greatly decreased since even the extremist Muslims were decrying them now, but they still occurred. So did other forms of torture. A little morsel such as that kid, he shuddered to think what would be done to him by some of those groups before his life would be ended. A quick death would be preferable. 

Brian did not for a moment consider the possibility of the kid staying. Well, perhaps for a minute he allowed his mind to consider the possibilities of having a little fuck buddy on hand in the hotel. He had been in Iraq for over a year now, and while there had been several tricks over the months, mainly with other news people, although sometimes with soldiers in the new “don’t ask, don’t tell” military; today’s sex had been the best he had had in a long, long time. He wished he had taken longer with it. 

He toyed briefly with the idea of hunting the kid down for a good-bye fuck, but rejected that idea. It might give him the wrong message. The most important message for Justin Taylor to “get” right now was that there was nothing for him in Baghdad, and that included Brian Kinney.

There was a knock at the door. Brian ambled over to answer it.

“Hey, what’s up?” Brian greeted the smiling man on the other side of the door. It was Dennis Chanders, from CNN, one of Brian’s favorite TV news people. Chanders was one of the few out here who was always happy.

“Hey, yourself. Listen, Brian, I just brought my niece over from the States. She is doing work with a fledging magazine, some new Rodale press thing, and she wanted to see the war first hand, maybe interview some young female soldiers before I ship her off home, all safe and sound. She has a friend out here. I thought I would treat them to dinner; let them meet one of the old dogs of war. You up for impressing a couple of starry eyed kids?” Dennis grinned at him.

Brian glared at him, rubbing his day old growth of beard.

“This dinner include as much booze as I can down in one sitting?”

“Sure, as soon as I tuck the kids into bed. Until then, try to keep it reasonably clean and sober, kind of like the good old days at Penn.”

“Fine, you got a date.” Brian smirked at him. “But you had better bring plenty of money because I can drink plenty of booze.”

“Like I don’t know that! But this is on the CNN expense account, baby, none of your print media nickel and dime shit, so the sky’s the limit!” The dark skinned man gave a wide grin, very similar to his niece’s, before heading off down the hallway. “Meet us in the dining room at eight, don’t be late; and Bri, wear something pretty!” His laugh floated down the hallway after him.

Brian snorted. Yeah, right. This would mess up his plans to check on Mel, but then it occurred to him that Dennis had a lot of connections with military brass. Brian just might be able to kill a few birds with one stone: check on assuring that one Justin Taylor lost his accommodations in the Green Zone; locate one missing Melanie Marcus, JAG; and get himself shit-faced drunk, all in one evening!


End file.
